


Among Autumn Tones

by orphan_account



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Football, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Pining, i know nothing about american football yet here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Chris likes men. Chris is utterly terrified.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	Among Autumn Tones

In hindsight, Chris should have realised a lot sooner. That feeling, that swells in his chest and the dizzying pulse under his skin were no red herrings. When sixth grade found him red in the face from the presence of an intimate friend. When freshmen year sought meaning in meaningless sleepovers, another body against his own. Chris likes men. Chris is utterly terrified. In moments like these - moments among brothers in arms - where boys will be boys and poke at satire not realizing the bear hidden underneath --

“I heard he was a faggot.”

Everyone laughs, Chris laughs; it’s funny. What’s funny? Wesker, Albert -- Al, choosing the victim for the day, insults rolling like felt from his mouth, hisses from a snake. Al chucks his apple into the air, catches it with one hand and takes a bite, half laughing. Suddenly, Chris’ kit feels tight; the sweat that had pooled from football practice now becomes cruelly noticeable. He’s laughing. Al grabs him by the shoulder and pulls their heads close together.

“Look, he’s taking another picture - flash that million-dollar smile Chris!”

He squints his eyes and smiles the way he’s been laughing. The photographer pulls the trigger, shooting Al and him like this -- like Chris’s flesh doesn’t boil at his contact, almost, just so. It’s just a picture.

Leon Kennedy pulls the lens from his face and looks down at his camera, seemingly fiddling with settings. Al pulls off Chris’ shoulder and continues his vitriolic comments, about Leon. Chris doesn’t hear them. His eyes are fixated on the boy across the field; Leon: parted, tawny-brown hair reflecting silver-grey in the midday sun. Leon: lean muscle and tight expression until transformed by the grace of his smile, the euphonious notes of his laughter. Leon: the faggot, personification of the AIDs epidemic, whose very touch is poisoned by the reputation bestowed upon his head. Chris hates Al for Leon’s sake; never as much as he hates himself.

A girl jogs up to Leon from behind and Chris turns away. Barry gestures for him to join them, the football team retreating into the locker room. Chris leaves Leon, and his thoughts, on the pitch.

“Leon!”

Hannigan lays a hand on his shoulder and Leon’s eyes soften, the beginnings of a smile appearing.

“We’ve got around fifteen minutes of lunch left -- have you eaten?”

Leon hasn’t; Hannigan realises instantly by his expression.

“I feel like your mother sometimes.”

“That’s gross.” Leon teases. Hannigan punches him in the shoulder only to wrap her arm around it later as she guides him inside.

“The school finally got a call from Luis, by the way.” Leon perks up at the mention of his friend, he’d been absent all morning, supposedly sick.  
“He’s got a pretty bad case of the flu,” She continues, “won’t be in for a few days.”

“He’ll pull through though, right?” Leon worries his nails between his teeth, Hannigan pulls them away.

“It’s just the flu Leon, the school’s more worried about everyone else getting it.”

Leon sighs, “I’ll check up on him after school.” Then he quickly smacks his palm against his forehead. “Aw shit.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna have to sit next to Chris in Bio now.”

* * *

Chris sits next to Leon in Biology class; which is fine. Ironically - despite being school photographer and, subsequently, photographer for the football team - Leon doesn’t know Chris all that well. Chris acts like a worn-out character from a teen novel; oblivious jock through and through. As the quarterback of the school team he is notorious among the girls in school, they wax and wane around him as permanent as the moon phases, their interest in him only runs as far as his physique and strong bone structure are concerned. It is fickle, in this way, because Chris has never returned their interest. It’s true, he is obnoxious, buffed out, and his intelligence is nothing to run home about, but that teen-novel-box seems a little too tight for his bones. In the long history that Leon has known of Chris, he never dated.

Leon supposes maybe he isn’t the only gay guy at his school.

Then Chris sticks two pencils in his gums and makes walrus sounds at Piers. That box perhaps wasn’t as small as Leon thought. Either that or Leon far too often lets pessimism be judge and jury. The teacher finally calls for order, throwing a look towards Chris and the unceremonious dribble on his pencils.

“So, we’re starting a new project and I would like you all to partner up,” The class remains silent but many start looking towards their friends across the room.  
“and to avoid fuss, you’ll be working with whoever is sitting next to you.” This elicits a louder response from the room. “No ‘buts’, please, just partner up.”

Leon slowly looks to his left, only to see Chris staring right back at him - offering an apologetic smile. Luis is very obviously missing from the seat in between them and while Leon had left it empty, Chris takes the plunge, sliding his stuff across the desk and moving into the seat next to Leon.

Now, Leon is not weak. In gym class he can hold his own against most of the other boys; his father is a cop and Leon, wanting to follow in his footsteps, exercises like one. But Leon is feminine, if you were to call basic hygiene feminine. He takes care of himself, and emotionally empathises well; Leon never feels the need to overcompensate his masculinity or downplay his ‘femininity’, as it was. However, this drew attention from those who did. Al, specifically, is an asshole. Al is also an asshole on the football team. That box, fits him perfectly, the only discrepancy being that Al is smart, with intelligence comes pride and with pride, cruelty. Among the seven sins, he is - to noticeable irony - the mother of them all.

It is this, that fills the pit of Leon’s stomach with dread; black, tar-like dread that makes his spirit sink within his body. Chris is Al’s best friend; Al, whose subtlety about how Leon decides to compose himself betrays the very meaning of the word. What if Chris shared those views? Encouraged them? Acted upon them? Sitting a seat away or, taking pictures for the school is one thing; working together, is entirely another. Al never had the guts to actively advance on Leon, take matters into his own hands, but Chris? Chris is a silhouette in the dark, a sound late at night, a monster in the shadows, Leon doesn’t know what to expect from him.

“Uh, thank you, Leon, for taking pictures at practice today.” Chris rubs the back of his neck, a small smile on the corner of his lips.

“Oh, uh, it’s alright -- I was asked to, so…”

“Yeah, well, even so, I can imagine standing out in the cold watching us mess around with a ball isn’t that interesting, so… thanks.”

Leon’s expectations are very quickly flipped on their head. Here is Chris, looking at him in earnest - eyebrows slightly raised and rose-tint to his complexion - thanking him for something so simple. Leon’s not sure he’s ever been thanked for his photography before.

Softly, gently, Chris deconstructs Leon’s defences; brick by brick, word by word, they coordinate. The biology task is complex and even Leon finds himself picking at the edges of his knowledge for answers; however Chris, while lacking in knowledge has _perspective_ , he very quickly finds alternative solutions and forces Leon to think outside that worn-out, teen novel box he so hastily put him in.

Chris’s eyes and manner are built to deconstruct, to see simplicity in complexity; Leon can’t help but feel nervous as those eyes look through him. Even so, they progress, at a cooperative pace, through the material. Leon has no time to rebuild his barriers before the bell goes and Leon finds himself yearning for those eyes, that perspective, again.

* * *

Chris turns to look at Leon, his complexion drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. Leon removes the camera from his face, across the stands, he meets Chris’ eyes. This was it, ten minutes left on the clock, in the final quarter of the game and they have the play. Chris is burning, adrenaline gouging through his veins; Leon watching him. Maybe because Leon is meant to be there, employed by the school, but Chris doesn’t care. _This_ is what he does, what he excels at, Biology had him embarrassed, frankly. Leon feels like an oasis in the desert, gracefully smart, humble in his intelligence as Chris is always fumbling, rolling with the words that never come to describe the feeling of being next to him.

The team rally and fall into position, like motions in a machine. Chris clutches the ball in front of his chest, his eyes close as he counts his breathing until the whistle. Leon brings his camera back up to his face, capturing Chris at this moment - everything poised, wound tight into a ball of tension. Leon believes in him and hopes Chris can feel it.

The whistle screeches; the camera clicks… and Chris surges.

His feet hit the ground like hooves of a racehorse, charging through the padded defence. Chris breaks through, quickly realising there’s no one to receive; this is his field now. He is the cavalry, making it for the running play, lungs heaving, vision blurring…

“Time!”

Chris is on the ground, mud splattered up his arm like a bloodstain. The blood he took from the other team in scoring a touchdown. Roars echo from the stands, a cacophony of victory reverberating throughout Chris’ bones. Al pulls him up off the ground, smacking him on the shoulder but Chris doesn’t care. He’s watching Leon, bouncing in the stands, camera dangling from his fingers. He’s smiling; Chris is smiling.

Applause and congratulations don’t cease as Chris exits the field, his team continue to chant his name in the locker room, chivalry abound. Chris beams from ear to ear, the image of Leon’s smile plastered into the walls of his brain. 

His kit peels off like a second skin, stepping out of his game face into Chris, who struggles at biology; Chris, who likes men. As this transition occurs people trickle out of the locker room, leaving him like this. Exposed, vulnerable, coming down from an adrenaline high. He steels himself to step outside.

Suddenly, the familiar creak of the door sounds out across the room. Light footsteps tread along the floor and Chris isn’t ready to be dragged from his cocoon yet. The intruder turns the corner and Chris readies his game face again; only, it isn’t needed.

“Leon.” Chris breathes.

“Chris.” Leon smiles. “You were… the best damn quarterback I’ve ever seen, I mean…” He trails off.

“Thank you, Leon, but I’ve got enough praise to give me diabetes so there's no need for that.” Chris deflects, he worries of the state he’d be in if Leon praised him too earnestly, the things he might do. Leon just lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Well, I know just the way to burst that bubble then. We have homework.” Chris’ bubble just inflates further. Suddenly, it seemed, they had become ‘we’. “You free this weekend?” All at once Chris’ bubble takes off and he’s soaring.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m, uh, I’m free.” He trips over syllables and tries to fit the pieces of his mind together. “Sunday, at my place?”

“You got it, see you then.” Leon winks and waltzes out the door like he’s the one who just scored the winning touchdown.

Chris is left pulling together the pieces, his gut doing flips, somersaulting into oblivion. Before he knew it, they transitioned from strangers to an undefined ‘we’ and Chris cannot wait to write the definition. But first, he grabs his gear, duffel bag swung round his shoulder, to chase after the boy who winked… but never took his address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rlly went ham writing about american football when all i know about it is from the wikihow i googled today


End file.
